


Yes, Dana, There is a Santa Claus

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 11:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: Mulder believes in a lot of strange things--but when he suggests that Santa Claus is the culprit for a series of strange murders, Scully doesn't know what to think.  The case, along with the stresses of the season and her unconfessed feelings for her partner, makes for a very complicated Christmas.





	Yes, Dana, There is a Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone at the Fic Files workshop who helped me with this! It is much appreciated.
> 
> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

“Hey, Scully.  Ready to get in the holiday spirit?”

Scully looked up from the report she was finishing.  “In this context, I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”  But Christmas was in three days, and it wasn’t like she was doing a great job getting into the spirit on her own this year, so she thought she might as well take a look at the file Mulder was carrying.  “What have we got?”

Mulder grinned at her.  “Someone’s taken out Santa Claus.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, not the man himself,” Mulder said, opening the file.  “One of those mall Santas, you know?”  He showed her a picture.  The man in the picture was middle-aged; he wore a Santa costume, and he was clearly dead.  A heavy blow to the head, from the looks of things, or a fall.  And he was covered in something…

“Is that ash?”

Mulder nodded.  “Yup.  He was found in a fireplace.  He’s not the first.”

“There have been other people found dead in fireplaces?” Scully asked.

“Other mall Santas,” Mulder said.  “Total of three so far.  The latest was right here in DC.  And there have been notes like this with all of them.”  He showed her another picture, this one of a piece of paper.  It read “IMPOSTER” in simple block printing.

Scully raised an eyebrow.  “Someone who’s upset at learning that Santa isn’t real?”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to find out,” said Mulder.

“And is there a particular reason that we’re the ones investigating this?”

“There are certain unexplainable circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for one thing,” said Mulder, “all of the men seem to have been dropped into the fireplaces from a great height.  Down the chimney, if you will.”

“That’s odd,” Scully said, “unlikely, even.  But it’s not impossible.  I wouldn’t call it unexplainable.”

“And for another,” Mulder went on, seeming to pay no attention to this objection, “according to the reports, all of the deaths occurred within minutes of each other.” 

Scully frowned.  “It could be a group working together.”

“It could,” Mulder said.

“I’m sure you have a theory, though,” she said.

“I might be working something out,” Mulder said.  “But in the meantime, let’s go take a look at our first Santa Claus.” 

 

The DC Santa Claus, Clark Bentley, was in the morgue, but Scully’s examination didn’t turn up much that they didn’t already know.  The cause of death was head trauma, and the man also had other injuries consistent with a fall.

“Do we know who found him?” she asked Mulder. 

Mulder flipped through the file.  “His wife.  She heard a noise in the living room, went to investigate.  There he was in the fireplace.  She didn’t see anyone else.”

“And the others?” she asked, leaning in to look at the file as well. 

“Similar stories,” Mulder said, turning to the relevant pages.  Scully looked them over; both of the other men had been found in their own homes by family members, and, again, those family members hadn’t seen anyone else around.

“So why these three?” she asked.  “Are there any common factors, besides their job and the way they died?”

“Nothing anyone’s identified so far,” he said.  “We can check up on that, but I’ve got a feeling it’s the job and those imposter notes that are the most important here.”

Scully sighed.  “Okay, Mulder, what are you thinking?  Spill it.”

Mulder looked at her; his face was mostly serious, but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.  “I’m thinking…Santa Claus.”

At first, Scully was confused.  “Yes, they were all Santa Clauses…”

“No, Scully,” Mulder said.  “I’m thinking Santa Claus is responsible for this.  The real one.”

He didn’t look like he was joking.  But even for him, this theory was… “Mulder, are you serious?”

“Think about it, Scully,” Mulder said.  “Who better to call mall Santas imposters than the real Santa Claus?  He’s known for dropping things down chimneys…and for travelling almost instantaneously…”

“And for being a nice man who brings presents to children, not a murderer,” Scully said.  “Also, he doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t believe Santa exists?” Mulder asked.  “Why not?”

“Maybe because I’m an adult?” Scully said.  “I stopped believing in Santa when I was five, Mulder.”

“Skeptical from such a young age,” Mulder remarked.  “But what if he is real after all, Scully?  Wouldn’t we be remiss not to look at this angle?”

“And how do you propose that we even do that?” Scully asked.  “Look for reindeer tracks?  Put out some milk and cookies and wait?  No, we need to think about actual motives for this—actual people who might have done this.  We can’t go on a wild goose chase after a children’s story, after someone who definitely does not exist.”

 “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so insistent about Santa Claus not existing,” Mulder said, his voice teasing.  “He might hear and put you on the naughty list.”

“Somehow I’m not too concerned about that,” Scully said.  “At any rate, I think it would make sense if we talked to some people who knew these men, people who might actually be able to shed some light on this.”  She looked at the file again.  “We should talk to their families.  And what about trying to trace the notes?”

“Sure,” Mulder said.  “We can trace them all the way back to the North Pole.”

Scully shook her head.  “I can take the one we have here back to the labs.  You could go talk to his wife—and try not to bring up your Santa Claus theory, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” Mulder said, “but we have to see where the questions lead.” 

“I’m serious,” Scully said.  “This is going to be hard enough for her.”  She couldn’t imagine what these men’s families must be going through.  She wasn’t looking forward to her own Christmas much this year—it would be the first since Melissa had died, and she always missed her dad more around this time, and even though she and her mom and brothers would be together she knew it wasn’t going to be the happiest one they’d ever had.  But the thought of losing someone you loved just days before the holiday…that almost made her want to start counting her blessings.

Mulder didn’t push his theory any more, thankfully; he just nodded and patted her shoulder lightly on his way to the door.  “Call me if you find out anything.”

She shook her head as she changed out of her scrubs.  Everyone over the age of eight or so knew that Santa Claus was just a made-up story, something designed to make Christmas more fun for kids and to encourage them to behave themselves.  Of course, she’d never been too concerned about that part anyway, since she’d realized the truth pretty young.  Knowing that the presents came from her parents, she’d figured it was most important to be good on balance, and if she’d been concerned about earning gifts today, she would have said a similar thing  If she did the right thing most of the time, it didn’t matter if sometimes she did something a little more questionable.  Snapping at people when she got frustrated.  Spending a lot of nights touching herself while she thought about her work partner.

There wasn’t anything technically wrong with doing that, true, but Scully couldn’t help thinking sometimes that it would be better if she could cut it out.  It wasn’t the most professional way to think about someone you worked with.  It was very hard not to, though.  The first time that she’d found herself fantasizing about Mulder, she’d been a little shocked at herself, but now he was the only thing she thought about when she wanted to get herself off.  It wasn’t just one vague fantasy anymore, either.  She had a whole variety of thoughts: different situations (at home, on a case, in the office), different touches (his hands, his mouth, his whole body on hers), different things he might say ( _I’ve wanted this for so long_ , _I want you to feel good_ , _I love you_ ).

Now when she shook her head, it was at herself.  Scully wasn’t sure when she’d started to fall in love with Mulder—some time in the last year, when everything had gotten more serious but he’d always been there, after her abduction, after Melissa—but that was what she wanted now: something serious, something real.  If all she’d wanted was his touch, that wouldn’t have been too bad; she could tell that he wanted that too, sometimes.  Her actual feelings…well, that was more complicated.  She didn’t know if he wanted anything like that.  Hence the reliance on her imagination.

Scully shivered as she walked out of the building.  She wasn’t sure if it was because it was starting to snow or because of her thoughts.

 

After getting the results on the notes from the lab, Scully went back to the office.  Mulder was already there, flipping through a file.  “What’d you find out?” he asked her.

Scully sighed, taking a seat.  “Not much,” she said.  “Some fingerprints, but they didn’t match up with anything in our databases.  And the ink is just…well, it’s just different colored gel pens.”

“Gel pens?” Mulder asked.

“Yeah,” Scully said.  “Those glittery things.  Haven’t you seen them in stores?  They’re really popular with kids.”

“Interesting,” Mulder said, grinning at her.  “Almost like the notes were written by someone with access to a lot of children’s toys.”

“Or,” Scully said, “someone who happened to walk into a drug store and buy the first thing he saw by the counter.  How about you?  What’ve you been up to?”

“I talked to Clark Bentley’s wife,” Mulder said.  “She showed me where she found him.”

“And?” Scully asked.

 “It’s not a huge fireplace,” Mulder said.  “The brickwork got messed up when he fell.  Honestly, I’m surprised he even fit down the chimney.”

“I suppose we can’t be sure that’s what did happen,” Scully said.  “He could have fallen elsewhere, and his body could have been moved.”

“How would you explain the noises his wife heard, then?” Mulder asked.  “She says she definitely heard a thump, and she was there within a minute and didn’t see anyone.  And she also told me that she thinks she heard something on the roof, before the thump.  She was falling asleep and at first she thought it was nothing, but now it seems like it might have been related.”

“Something on the roof,” Scully said.  “What kind of something?”

“A tapping noise,” Mulder said.  “You know, like hooves.”

Scully let out a sigh.  “Like hooves.  Is that her wording or yours?”

“Mine,” Mulder said.  “But honestly it seems like the most logical—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Scully said.  “Please tell me you didn’t bring up your hooves theory with this poor woman.”

“I didn’t!” Mulder said.  “How about we hear your theory?”

“My theory,” said Scully, “is that the killer was a normal human.  It’s not like it’s impossible for humans to climb onto roofs.  And human footsteps on a roof wouldn’t sound that different from hooves anyway, especially if you weren’t fully awake.  Do we know if he had any enemies?  Did she say anything about that?”

“Not a soul,” Mulder said.  “Quite the reverse, actually.  She kept telling me what a good Santa Claus he was.  She said everyone at the mall loved him—his co-workers, all of the kids—because he was so believable in the role.”

“What’d he do the rest of the year?” Scully asked, reaching for the file.  She took a look; Clark Bentley had worked for a children’s charity.  “Seems like a great guy.”

“Definitely,” Mulder said.  “Seems like no one who knew him personally would want to kill him.”

“That doesn’t mean—” Scully began, but just then Mulder’s phone rang.

“Mulder,” he said, picking it up.  “What?...Yeah, that sounds the same as what we’ve been looking at….Where was this, exactly?”  He picked up a pen and wrote something down.  “Yeah.  We’ll be out there as soon as we can.  Thanks.”  He hung up the phone.  “How do you feel about Minnesota at this time of year, Scully?”

“Lots of snow, I imagine,” Scully said.  Truthfully, she wasn’t eager to go—not when she had to be back and driving to her mother’s in three days’ time—but that was the job.  “Has there been another death?”

“Yeah,” Mulder said.  “Another mall Santa.  His name’s Dave Davis.  It was the same circumstances as all the others.  I told them we’d come out and take a look.”  The phone rang again.  “Hang on a second, Scully,” he said, picking it up.  “Mulder…What?...When was this?...You said Montana, right?...We’re looking at another similar case now.  But we’ll be out there as soon as we can…Yes, thanks.”  He hung up.  “Guess what that was about.”

“Another dead mall Santa?” Scully asked.

“Yes, of course,” Mulder said.  “But what’s the most interesting part about it?”

“More so-called hoof sounds?”

“They didn’t mention that on the phone,” Mulder said.  “But this death happened mere seconds after the one in Minnesota.  How do you explain that?”

“Copycat crimes,” Scully said.

“This hasn’t been in the news yet.”

“A group of some sort.”

“You think he got the elves in on it?” Mulder asked, and then he laughed as Scully gave him a look and turned her chair away.  “Okay, okay.  Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I am keeping an open mind,” Scully said.  “You’re the one who won’t let go of this theory.”

“Well, maybe we’ll learn more in Minnesota,” Mulder said.  “Let me look into flights.  Hopefully we can head out in the morning.”

 

THE HAPPIEST MALL IN AMERICA, said a sign above the door.  “Bleak,” Mulder muttered, his voice quiet enough that only she could hear it.  Scully started to laugh, then quickly turned it into a cough as a woman in a red uniform approached them.

“Are you from the FBI?” she asked. 

“Yes, that’s us,” Scully said.  “I’m Agent Scully, and this is Agent Mulder.”

The woman shook both their hands.  “I’m Mimi Li,” she said.  “We’re so glad you’re here.  This is really terrible about Dave, and we just hope you can catch whoever did this to him.”

“We hope so too,” Scully said.  “We’ve just come from his wife.  She said that she found him lying in the fireplace—around nine?”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard,” Mimi said.  “That’s the weird part.  He’d just gotten off his shift here at eight-thirty, and he lives pretty far.  He shouldn’t have had time to get home yet.”

“That is odd,” Scully said. 

“It’s just so horrible,” Mimi said.  “Would the two of you like to come with me?  You can talk to some of the other people who worked with him.” 

“That would be great,” Mulder said, and Mimi nodded and led them towards a small door. 

The break room had seen better days.  The carpet was dingy and looked like it had been there since the sixties, and there wasn’t much besides a row of lockers, a few rickety chairs, and two bickering college-aged kids dressed as elves.  “I just don’t see why we can’t go home,” one of them, a dark-haired guy, said.  “I mean, if there’s no Santa, what do they need elves for?”

“Dude, we’re getting paid,” said the other, a blond girl.  “Quit whining.”

“Carl, Sarah,” said Mimi, “these are Agents Mulder and Scully.  They’re from the FBI.  Agents, these are Carl and Sarah.  They’re two of our very best elves.”  Carl and Sarah looked decidedly unimpressed by this assessment of themselves. 

“Hi,” Mulder said.  “Do you know what we’re here about?”

Carl and Sarah nodded.  “Yeah,” Sarah said.  “About Dave getting killed.”  And suddenly the mood seemed more somber in the room; the two elves exchanged looks.  “Are you going to find out who did this?”

“We certainly hope so,” Scully said.  “What can the three of you tell us about Dave?  What kind of a person was he?”

“Oh, he was great,” Sarah said.  “Way better than last year’s Santa.  That guy didn’t give a shit.”

Carl nodded.  “Yeah, Dave really believed in this stuff.  Just last week, it had been a long day, and we were really tired and I was complaining about something, and Dave told me we had to think about the kids.  That what we were doing made Christmas a whole lot brighter for them.”

“He was really the nicest guy I’ve ever met,” Mimi added.  “Anyone would tell you the same.  All the kids—they just absolutely loved him.  They really believed he was Santa.  Honestly, I would have believed it too, if I were a kid.  He was so kind.”  She stopped, drew in a breath.  “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill him.”

“No enemies that you know of?” Scully asked.

“No,” Mimi said.  “And I can’t believe he would have had any.”  The elves nodded. 

“Anything else you can tell us about him?” Mulder asked.

“I can’t think of anything,” Mimi said, as the elves shook their heads.  “Would you like to see where he worked, though?”

“Sure,” Scully said.  “That would be helpful.”  Mimi led them out of the break room.

The place looked like any other mall at Christmas time.  Shiny clean.  Holiday-themed displays.  Lots of tinsel and lights.  A big tree in the middle of the shopping area.  There was something almost antiseptic about it, something Scully didn’t like.  It seemed to take all the trappings of Christmas and scrub away the parts that meant anything, which somehow felt more hollow than not celebrating at all.  “So this was it,” Mimi said, as they made their way towards the tree.  There was a large red chair next to it, an abandoned camera.  A large banner read MEET SANTA CLAUS; a smaller chalkboard easel read SANTA WILL BE BACK AT _____ O’CLOCK.  Someone had erased the number.  “He’s not here now,” Mimi said, and then she blushed.  “I mean, sorry, that’s obvious.” 

It probably would have been obvious even if they hadn’t known that Dave had been killed.  A rope for lining up stretched past the chair, but there was almost no one there now; another mall employee was attempting to reason with a mother and her small daughter, who was repeating, “You said we’d meet Santa today, Mommy, you _promised_ ,” at a steadily increasing volume.

“Oh dear,” Mimi said, looking over at them.  “Would you mind if I… I could just…”  The child threw herself dramatically onto the floor.

“That’s fine,” Scully said, and Mimi gave her a grateful smile and hurried towards the now sobbing child.

Mulder turned to Scully.  “What’re you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Scully said.  “It’s odd.  This whole place—it’s not like it’s a particularly outstanding set-up.  Those two back there certainly didn’t seem that into it.  But Dave—from what everyone says, he sounds like he was the real deal.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said.  “That’s what I was thinking too.  Same as Clark.”  He looked thoughtful.  “You think that’s the link?  Why these particular guys got picked?”

“Maybe,” Scully said.  “But why would that be the case?  Why would someone be interested in killing really dedicated mall Santas?”

“Well,” Mulder said, “think back to the notes.  _Imposter_.  If Santa’s trying to get rid of the competition—”

“Which he’s not—”

“—he’d want to start with the best competition out there, wouldn’t he?  Not the guys who just half-ass it.  They wouldn’t be any threat.”

“You still haven’t explained why Santa would see any of these guys as a threat,” Scully said.  She realized that she was talking as if Santa were real now; he was drawing her into this, whether she liked it or not.  “If there were a Santa, wouldn’t he be above this kind of thing?  Besides, he’s supposed to be a good guy.”

“I don’t know,” Mulder said.  He took a seat in the Santa chair and grinned up at her.  “I’ve always thought he was pretty creepy.  All that surveillance.”

“Surveillance?  Aren’t you being a little dramatic?  Mulder, it’s just something your parents tell you to get you to—”

“And so judgmental,” Mulder went on.  “Have you been a good girl or a bad girl this year?”

From the way he was looking at her, she wasn’t sure if he was just quoting or if he was actually posing the question.  She decided to go with the safer option.  “It’s a long way from leaving kids coal to killing people.”

“Still,” Mulder said.  “He’s a powerful guy.  And he’s used to having everything be up to him.”

“Mulder, that’s just…it doesn’t make any…”  She could never decide, when he tied things up in knots like this, if she hated it or loved every second of it.

“Just give the idea a try,” Mulder said.  “Think back.  Get in touch with your younger self.”  He was grinning again, and she felt off-balance suddenly, even before he spoke.  That teasing tone.  “What do you want for Christmas this year, Scully?”

And God, she thought about it for half a second.  Just coming out and telling him.  He had started it, after all; he was flirting now, he was definitely flirting, and maybe that meant he wanted to take the consequences.  Maybe it meant he would be up for it, if she were to say _You_.  _You and me.  That’s what I want_. 

She didn’t say it, though.  Partly it was the place: she didn’t know what would come next, if she said that, and none of her fantasies took place in an abandoned Santa’s village at the Happiest Mall in America.  But partly it was the tone, that teasing note in his voice—not that she didn’t like it, she definitely did, it made her feel ways that were not appropriate to feel at a place meant for children.  It was too light, though, too easy.  As though it didn’t mean anything at all.

Instead, she just smiled.  “Nothing special, I guess.  I’d like it if we finished up the case soon.  Got back to DC in time for me to go to my mom’s.”

She couldn’t read his face for a second, but then he smiled too, nodding at her.  “Aw, I was hoping you were going to ask for something exciting,” he said.  “But that makes sense.  Let’s get going, then—not keep you away from home longer than we can help.”

“Yeah,” she said.  “Sounds good.”  She thought about what he’d said as they walked out of the mall.  _I was hoping you were going to ask for something exciting_.  She liked exciting.  But it wasn’t all she wanted.

 

The next morning, they were on their way to Montana.  It was starting to snow as they arrived, but they were able to land with no problems.

The latest Santa Claus was named Roger Green; the mall where he’d worked was, to put it bluntly, chaos.  No surprise, really—it was Christmas eve—but it didn’t put Scully in a very good mood.  They had to elbow their way past frantic adults and screaming kids (actually, some of the adults were screaming too).  All of the mall employees whom they talked to seemed distracted, only half their attention of the conversation and half on whatever was going on out in the shopping area.  And none of the information they did have was anything new.  Roger Green seemed just like all the other mall Santas: unquestionably good at his job and unquestionably dead.

The snow had picked up as they left the mall, along with the wind.  “Woah,” Mulder said.  “It’s really coming down.”

“Yeah,” Scully said, hurrying to the rental car. 

As they were driving to Roger Green’s house—he had lived with his brother, who had been the one to find him—she switched on the radio to listen to the weather report.  “Those of you who are dreaming of a white Christmas are getting it with a vengeance!  We’re expecting the snow to continue into tomorrow, with at least three feet of accumulation.  Look for winds to gust thirty-five to forty miles per hour.  We encourage you to stay safe and avoid the roads as much as possible.”

“Shit,” Scully muttered.  “We’re stuck here, aren’t we?”

“Sounds like it, yeah,” Mulder said.  He looked contrite, but right now she wasn’t in the mood.  It would have been one thing if they were actually getting work done, but this case was going nowhere fast, and all they had was Mulder’s nonsensical theory.  She was stranded in Montana for nothing, as far as she was concerned.  She pictured her mom’s face, that look she got when she was sad; she’d wanted them all to be together so much, and Scully had wanted that too.  Now Bill and Charlie would be there and she wouldn’t.  Now she was the bad child, the one who deserved the lump of coal. 

“I’m going to call my mom,” she said, pulling out her phone.  “Before we lose service or anything.”

The disappointment was plain in her mom’s voice, and she really couldn’t blame her.  “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, trying not to sound too frustrated herself.  “I really wanted to be there too.” 

“We’ll miss you a lot,” her mom said.  “Will you at least call tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Scully said.  “We can have a good talk.”

“Both of you take care of yourselves,” her mom said.  “Be safe out there.  And tell Fox I said merry Christmas.”

“I’ll do that,” Scully said.  “Bye, Mom.”  After she hung up, she turned to Mulder.  “My mom says merry Christmas,” she said, and then she stared out of the window at the rapidly falling snow.

She had seen Christmas displays before, but, as they pulled up in front of the Greens’ house, she couldn’t help staring.  This one was something special.  Thousands of lights adorned the building, and on the lawn was a model town.  An old-fashioned small town at Christmas, she could tell it was supposed to be, with snow (both real and fake, at this point) on all of the buildings and trees and little people in red and green coats carrying wrapped presents, skating on a miniature lake, exchanging waves and embraces.  Santa Claus was on the roof of one of the buildings, smiling benignly down.  In another mood, Scully thought she probably would have liked the scene.  She’d never had a ton of decorations herself—a habit picked up from her childhood, when she’d gotten used to travelling light—but she could tell someone had put a lot of work and care into this display.  Right now, though, she just wanted to be home.  She told herself to concentrate on the case, to be glad of the work; finishing this up now would only mean spending the next few days lying around in a motel room.  She wondered fleetingly if Mulder would want to spend any extra time they might have together; she probably would have liked that thought in another mood too.

Mulder rang the doorbell, which was quickly answered by a man wearing a reindeer sweater.  He had something of a Santa Claus look himself, actually—he was large and had a white beard—if you ignored the somber expression.  “Robert Green?” Mulder asked.  “Brother of Roger?”

“Yes, that’s me,” said the man.

“I’m Agent Mulder, and this is Agent Scully,” Mulder said.  “Okay if we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Please,” the man said, holding the door for them.

The inside was as elaborately decorated as the outside: tinsel everywhere, bright lights, a tall Christmas tree with ornaments and popcorn strings and a shining star on the top.  “We loved Christmas,” Robert said.  “Both of us did.”

“It’s very nice,” Scully said gently.  “Did you do all of it yourself?”

Robert nodded.  “Well, the two of us.  We did it every year.”

“I’m so sorry about your brother,” Scully said, and Robert nodded quickly, turning his face to stare determinedly at the tree.

“So tell us about what happened,” Mulder said.  “Where did you find him?”

“Right here, actually,” Robert said.  He motioned them towards the fireplace.  Roger Green’s body had been taken away, but it was still clear that something had happened there.  Chipped pieces of brick and wood lay on the earth, along with a sizeable amount of dirt and ash, and the fire irons had been knocked askew.  “It was two nights ago now.  I’d worked an earlier shift, so I was home; I thought Roger was still at work.  I was getting ready for bed, and I heard…I thought I heard a noise.  Like a kind of tapping.  And then I heard the crash.  I ran downstairs, and he was right here.  And I tried…I called 911 but I knew he was dead.”  He swallowed hard.  “There wasn’t anyone around.  Just the two notes.”

“ _Two_ notes?” Mulder said. 

“Yeah,” Robert said.  “In this glittery pen.  One of them said Imposter.”  Just as it had been in all the other cases.  “And the other one said You’re Next.”

“You’re Next?” Mulder asked.  “They didn’t tell us about that one.  You’re Next…Can you tell us what it is you do for a living?”  From the expression on his face, though, Scully could tell he was as sure as she was that it was an unnecessary question. 

“Yes,” Robert said.  “I’m also a mall Santa.”  Of course he was.  This insane case…

“Mr. Green, I think we should warn you to be on your guard,” Mulder said.  “We have reason to believe that someone is targeting mall Santas.  If that someone is going to be back to get you…maybe we should stay here for your protection.”

“Or for yours,” Robert said, looking out the window.  “The storm’s really getting worse.  I wouldn’t want you two nice people going out in that.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’d be fine,” Scully said.  “But we do need to make sure that you’re safe.”

“Yeah, we’ll stay and keep an eye out,” Mulder said.  “I have some ideas about how the killer might be getting in.  Although I doubt anything will happen for a few hours.  He seems to strike at night.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll feel safer having the two of you here,” said Robert.  “Would you like some coffee?  If it’s going to be a long wait…”

“Sounds great,” Mulder said cheerfully.  He was taking off his coat now and putting it over the back of his chair.  “How about you, Scully?”

“Yes, thanks,” she said, and Robert smiled at them and left the room.  “Mulder,” Scully said, as soon as he was gone, “do you happen to have some kind of plan?”

“I was actually hoping we could talk about that,” Mulder said.  “You see, there’s not a lot of information around taking down Santa Claus.  No stakes or silver bullets or anything like that.  Do you think maybe we could—”

“Mulder,” Scully said.  “Can we be practical here?  Just for two minutes?”  She let out a breath.  “Whoever or whatever this is, there’s some kind of threat here.  Where do you think we should position ourselves?  Inside or outside?  With Robert?  At the fireplace?”

“He has to be getting in from outside, right?” Mulder said.  “That’s how it works.  Up onto the roof, down the chimney, and then presents or murder, as the case may be.” 

At this point, she didn’t see where arguing was going to get her.  She wouldn’t waste time contradicting him, she decided; she would just treat this like…like they were talking about any ordinary intruder.  One who was very good at what he did, maybe, but who was still a human.  “So if he’s coming in from the roof,” she said, “should one of us be on the roof?”

Mulder seemed to take this as full agreement with his theory, judging by the way he smiled at her.  The main part of her wanted to yell at him.  A smaller, more reluctant part wanted to blush.  “Yeah, that sounds good to me,” he said.  “And the other one should stay inside with Robert.  We’d better trade off, though.  I don’t know what Skinner would say if we came back frozen into—”

“Look at the two of you!”  Robert had coming back into the room, carrying mugs of coffee, and he was beaming at them.  She wondered how he could look so happy, now.  “Go on, then.  You know what to do.”  And when they stared back at him, he gestured upwards.  Scully looked up.  She didn’t know what it said about her that what she saw made her heart start racing faster than anything else she’d seen on this case.  _It’s just a plant_ , she told herself.  _An ordinary plant_.  But she knew that the sprig of mistletoe above them was a little more than that.

“Shall we, Scully?” Mulder said, and she didn’t know how to respond.  She wanted to.  Of course she wanted to.  He didn’t know how much she wanted to kiss him, with or without an excuse.  But right here and now… She didn’t trust herself, that was the trouble.  If she started to kiss him, she was afraid she wouldn’t stop.

“Come on, now,” Robert said.  “It’s a Christmas tradition.”

Apparently that was enough for Mulder.  He cupped her cheek, bent his head, and pressed his lips to hers.

She’d imagined this more times than she could count—but it wasn’t like she’d imagined.  She wanted to open her mouth, kiss him for a long, long time, but she couldn’t do that, not with this bereaved mall Santa watching them from across the room, not when they were going to be stuck here for hours, probably, and they’d either have to talk about it—and then what would they say?—or not talk about it—and they were good at that, but if she were ever going to do this, she didn’t want it to end with them just going back to the way they’d always been.  She wanted to know, from that moment on, if he felt for her what she felt for him.  If she ever got up the courage to do this, she didn’t want it to be all over in a flash. 

But right now, she couldn’t.  She couldn’t even let herself get started.  So she pulled away, jerking back in a split second, before she even had the chance to register whether or not it felt good.  (It felt like something, though.  Just that brush of his lips.  She hoped she wasn’t turning pink.)  She grabbed a mug of coffee from Robert and took a sip, just to have something to do.

Robert didn’t seem to notice anything; he just smiled at them again and handed the other mug to Mulder.  Mulder was staring at her, though.  He looked almost hurt, and Scully couldn’t really blame him.  She’d practically wiped her mouth off after he kissed her.  Even if he didn’t share her feelings, that couldn’t feel great.  But she couldn’t say anything now.

“So!” she said, trying to put energy into her voice, taking a big sip of the coffee and hoping it would help.  “Robert, is there a way for us to get up on your roof?”

 

She took the last step off the ladder and checked her watch.  9:05.  “How’s everything inside?” she asked Mulder.

“Good.  Quiet for now,” Mulder said.  He looked around.  “It’s certainly dark enough for things to start happening, though.  You see anything?”

Scully shook her head.  “Nope.  Enjoy your shift.”

“Thanks,” he said.  They’d been trading off all evening, between the roof and indoors; it was terribly cold, and once Scully had thought a gust of wind was going to take her off the roof, which would have been an undignified end to the investigation.  Aside from that, though, there hadn’t been anything exciting.  “You too.”

“Will do,” Scully said, starting towards the door.  It was easier this way, just talking about what they had to do. 

“Scully,” he said as she walked away.

“Yeah?”  She turned back.

A pause.  “Nothing,” he said.  “You’d better go and warm up.  Robert made more coffee.”

“Thanks,” she said.  She tried her best to smile; she was pretty sure her face was partially frozen.  “That sounds good.”

She stamped off her boots and went into the living room, where Robert was setting out more mugs of coffee.  “Come in and have something to drink,” he said when he saw her.  “I really appreciate the two of you doing this, you know.  And at the holidays and all.”

“It’s our job,” Scully said, sitting down and taking a sip.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I know that,” said Robert.  “Still, you have to be very big-hearted to do this kind of job.”

She’d take it.  “You too,” she said.  “What you do—it must make a lot of kids’ day.”

“I hope so,” Robert said.  “That’s the point of Christmas, after all.  Showing people you care about them.”  He looked thoughtful.  “I guess a lot of the kids think the point is presents.  But someday they’ll get it.”

“I hope so,” she said.  “I appreciate your welcoming us, too.  At a time like this.”

It was remarkable, the way he smiled at her.  “I’m glad that the two of you are here,” he said.  “Of course it’s…it’s not the same, no use pretending it is.  But I wouldn’t want to be alone.”

“I understand,” she said, nodding.

“You want to be with the people you love, of course,” he said.  “But then the holiday itself makes a difference.  I sometimes think—did you hear something?”

Scully listened.  “Just the wind, I think.”

Robert shook his head.  “No.  That.”

She listened again, and yes, now she heard it.  Something on the roof—tap tap tap and then a thump.  And there was something else too—Mulder’s voice.  “Scully!”

Scully narrowly escaped spilling coffee all over herself, slamming the mug down onto the table and jumping up from her seat.  She ran outside, looking around frantically: she needed to get to Mulder.  A movement on the roof caught her eye.  There was certainly something going on up there, although she couldn’t make out quite what through the falling snow; there were several moving shapes though, that was certain.  She made her way to the ladder and climbed up as quickly as she could without slipping. 

She took a look around when her head was at roof level, and then she blinked, trying to make sure she was seeing properly with all the snow.  But she hadn’t made a mistake.  That was a sleigh in front of her, just settled there on the roof where there definitely hadn’t been a sleigh before.  A sleigh with reindeer.  Eight of them.

The most important part, however, was what was going on next to the sleigh.  Mulder was engaged in a brawl with—well, with a man dressed as Santa Claus, at the very least, and if they took one false step the two of them were about to go off the roof.  She reached for her gun.  “Freeze!” she said.  “I’m a federal agent!”

The Santa Claus stared at her.  “You think I’m going to leave either of you any presents if you keep interfering with me?”

She hadn’t thought that he was going to leave her any presents in any case, but this didn’t seem like the time to point that out.  “I don’t care about that,” she said.  “But you can’t go around killing all the mall Santas.”

He snarled.  “They’re not mall Santas,” he said.  “They’re mall imposters.  I’m the only Santa.  And it’s my job to punish people who’ve done bad things this year.”

“Isn’t this an extreme step up from coal?” Mulder asked.  He took a swing at the Santa Claus, which was a mistake; it had no visible effect, and he just shoved Mulder so that he slipped and nearly fell. 

“The punishment has to fit the crime,” said the Santa Claus.  “Coal is for children.  Adults need to learn a harder lesson.”

“What are they learning if they’re dead?” Mulder asked.

“Someone needs to be an example.”

Scully was looking over the edge of the roof.  She didn’t want them to push their assailant to the ground, not knowing what effect it would have on him; she still wasn’t sure if he was Santa Claus, but he clearly believed he was, anyway, and it would be wiser to proceed with caution.  But on one side of the house, there was a little porch; the fall was far enough that it would hopefully disable him without killing him.  She caught Mulder’s eye and jerked her head in the direction of the porch, hoping he would catch on to her plan.  He looked, then looked back at her and nodded slightly, before starting to back the Santa Claus in the direction of the porch.  She followed, coming at him from the other side.

“We want you to stop this now,” Scully said.  “These are good men.  Whatever problem you may have with them, this is not the way of solving it.”

“The problem’s mine, not yours,” said the Santa Claus, “so I’d advise you to be the ones to stop.  We still have a few hours until Christmas—time enough to turn things around for yourselves.  You haven’t done much else that’s bad this year.”  She clenched the fist on her free hand and forced herself to keep walking slowly.  Who did he think he was, watching people all the time?  “But if you don’t back off…you’ve seen what I can do.”  He was close to the edge of the roof now.  Just a few more steps.

“Well, you make a good point,” Mulder said.  “The thing is, though, you’re not the only one who can dole out retribution.”  They moved as one then, closing in, and when the Santa Claus took a step back, his feet met the air.  He fell, landing on the porch.  Thump.

They climbed down the ladder, as quickly as they could, and dashed back into the house, not even stopping to brush off the snow, making their way out to the porch.  Scully felt for the Santa Claus’s pulse.  “We should get him inside,” she said.  “He’s alive.  Just knocked out.”

“Phew,” Mulder said.  “Maybe we’ll still get at least some presents this year.  Socks and things.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

 

It was after midnight, early on Christmas morning, and they were still hanging around in the local FBI field office.  They’d called out backup, but the scene at the house had been confused at best.  Santa Claus kept insisting that he was Santa Claus.  No one could figure out how to get the reindeer and sleigh off the roof, and they’d had to bring in a crane. 

No one seemed to know quite what to do.  After Scully and Mulder had told their story, the head of the field office had got on the phone to Washington.  Some sort of meeting was now in progress, and the two of them could hear snatches of talk floating out of the room.   “Well, he’s not an American citizen…”  “Could we release him to the government at the North Pole?”  “He _is_ the government at the North Pole!”  “What are the kids going to do if we put him in jail?”

There wasn’t any legal precedent for this situation, that was certain, and after a while Scully wandered over to the window.  A flash of movement caught her eye; the reindeer were there, seemingly enjoying the snow.  “Want to go take a closer look?” Mulder asked, joining her, and she nodded and walked out of the building by his side. 

She patted one of the reindeer, gingerly.  It seemed to like the attention, and she patted it again, murmuring, “Hey there.”  Mulder was still beside her; she knew she had to talk to him.  “Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

He looked at her.  “For what?”  His face, as he looked at her, seemed sincere; maybe he honestly wasn’t bothered, and maybe she should just drop the whole thing.

But she’d started now.  “Earlier.  At the house.  With the mistletoe.  I didn’t have to be so…”  She wasn’t sure of the right word to use.  Weird?  Cowardly?  Madly attracted to you?  “So abrupt,” she finally said.

“Scully,” he said, “I wasn’t mad.  I just thought…if I made you uncomfortable…”

“No!” she said.  “No, you didn’t.”  It had been uncomfortable, of course, but that wasn’t his fault.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  I was just…in a bad mood, I guess.  Because of being stuck here with the snow, you know.  Over Christmas.”

Mulder nodded.  “I really am sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said.  “It’s the job.”

“I know,” he said, “but I know you wanted to be with your family.  Especially this year.”  It was sometimes hard for her to talk about these things with him, at least right out, but knowing that he understood what it meant to her made her feel warm, blizzard and all.  As did the way he put an arm around her gently, pulling her into him.  “We…we could do something together later today.  I know it won’t be quite the same.    But if that sounds good to you…?”

It did sound good.  Maybe almost too good, but right now she decided she wasn’t going to let herself worry about that.  She remembered what Robert had said earlier that evening, about spending Christmas with the people you loved.  She still wished she could have been home, but she wasn’t about to turn this chance down.  “It does, yeah.”

The field office director poked her head out the door then.  “Oh, the two of you are still here,” she said.  “You can head out if you want.  We’re putting you up here.”  She handed them a hotel brochure.

“What’s going to happen to Santa Claus?” Mulder asked, while Scully studied the brochure.  The place looked nicer than the motels where they usually stayed, and that was putting it mildly.

Maybe it was just the cold, but the director looked flushed.  She said something in a low tone, something about “volatile situation” and “not our jurisdiction” and “shame if this got out.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to do anything?” Mulder asked.  “Because he’s dangerous, you know.  He may seem like just a children’s character, but he’s killed at least five people.”

“We are,” said the director.  “Of course we are.  We just…we’re figuring out some things…we want to keep this quiet while we discuss our options…”  She made a show of looking at her watch.  “It’s really late.  Why don’t you two get going?  You must be so tired.”  And she hurried back inside.

“Can you believe this, Scully?” Mulder asked.  “Just because he brings presents sometimes, he’s going to get special treatment.”

“So are we,” said Scully.  “Look at this.”  She held out the brochure.  “Heated pool and everything.”

Mulder looked skeptical.  “Is this hush money?”

“Are you complaining?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m exactly complaining,” Mulder said.  “I just think the laws should apply equally to everyone.  Including Santa Claus.”

“And I agree with you,” said Scully.  “But maybe we can discuss the justice system after we’ve gotten some sleep.”

 

Scully called her mom when they got to the hotel, and then she slept into the afternoon.  On her way back from getting some food in the dining room, she ran into Mulder in the hallway.  “Hey,” he said.  “We on for tonight?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding.  “What do you want to do?”

“Well, I don’t think we can go anywhere,” he said.  “It’s snowing even harder.  But we could get some food, anyway.  And then just…hang around.”  He looked almost shy about it.  “Not very exciting, I know.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said.  “That sounds really good, actually.  In half an hour?”

“Great,” he said, and he smiled, and she smiled back.

Back in her room, she looked out the window.  The snow was starting to taper off, although it was still going to take some time to clear the roads, if the size of the drifts was anything to go by.  There was a special Christmas Supplement in with the room service menu; she ordered eggnog and sugar cookies. 

Mulder showed up with additional eggnog and sugar cookies (the Christmas Supplement wasn’t particularly extensive).  “Hi, Scully,” he said.  “I brought this…oh, you have some already.”

She smiled.  “Great minds.  Come on in.” 

There was a small couch in the room, and they settled themselves on that.  She took a bite of a cookie—pretty good—and smiled at him again.  This was rare for them; they did sometimes spend time together outside of work, but they were usually at least still thinking about a case then, talking about it, trading theories.  It wasn’t this sort of pure companionship.

“Imagine if this got out,” Mulder said.

For a second she thought he meant the two of them—professional partners, sharing Christmas treats together on a hotel couch—but she decided that couldn’t possibly be it.  “If what got out?” she asked.

“All this about Santa Claus,” Mulder said.  “The children would be so disappointed.”

“Yeah,” Scully said.  “I guess they would.”

“I still don’t think he should get the special treatment,” Mulder said, “but still, if kids found out, it would be kind of a shame.  Don’t you think?”

Scully thought for a minute.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “They’d be disappointed at first, probably, but I think it would be all right in the end.  That’s not the only good part of Christmas.  Maybe it’s just because I barely remember believing in Santa, anyway, but that’s what I think.”

“Right, you said that,” Mulder replied.  “You stopped believing when you were five?  What tipped you off?”

She smiled and took another sip of the eggnog.  “It’s kind of a nice story, actually.  I’d been learning to ride a bike—I used to borrow Missy’s—and my parents said I could get my own that year.  And I saw this bike in a store window; it was dark blue with silver stripes, and I thought it was the neatest thing I’d ever seen.  I was with my dad, and I told him that.  Not that I wanted it, even.  Just that I thought it was a really great bike.”  She still remembered it, the way it had shone.  “But the next time we were near the store, Bill was with us, and I was looking at the bike again, and he laughed at me.  Because it was a boy’s bike, you know?  I said I didn’t care, I still liked it, and he said everyone would laugh at me if I had a bike like that.”  She remembered that part too, the sick feeling.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have cared.  But I was only five, and we’d just moved there too.  I didn’t have a lot of friends yet and I didn’t want people to laugh at me.  So when I wrote to Santa, I said I wanted a different bike.  A girl’s one.  Little pink basket and everything.  I didn’t really want it, but I…I guess I thought it would be better.  And it would still be a bike.  But on Christmas—there it was, under the tree.  The one I’d wanted, the blue bike, and it said it was for me, from Santa, and I was so excited.  But I thought about it, and I knew that it couldn’t be from Santa.  I didn’t write to him about that bike, so he couldn’t have known.  I knew my dad knew though, so later, I asked him if he was Santa, and he said yes, and he told me not to tell the others so I wouldn’t ruin it for them.  And he hugged me.”  She remembered that part best of all.  “So that was that.”

“Was it everything you wanted?” Mulder asked.  “The bike, I mean.”

She grinned.  “Hell yes.  I rode that thing everywhere.  I had it for years.  And no one ever laughed, either.”

He smiled back.  “That is a nice story,” he said.  “Maybe you’re right, Scully.  Maybe it wouldn’t make any difference to kids, in the end.”

“It makes it better in a way, I think,” Scully said.  “Not him being a murderer, I mean.  But knowing that the presents come from your parents.”  He looked at her questioningly, and she tried to explain what she meant.  “It means your parents care about you.  My dad—he knew what I really wanted because he knew me.  That means a lot more than getting things from some strange man with a flying sleigh.”

“I guess that’s true,” Mulder said.

He didn’t say anything more for a few minutes, and Scully was quiet too, thinking over her own words.  _He knew what I really wanted because he knew me._   That was true, as far as it went, but it left out part of the story.  Of course her dad had known her well, but he hadn’t just guessed about the bike; she’d told him that she liked it, even if she hadn’t asked for it.  He wouldn’t have gotten it for her otherwise.  You couldn’t expect people to read your mind.

Was that what she was expecting now, though?  Even though she told herself that she had to keep it together so that Mulder wouldn’t guess how she felt about him, somewhere there was a part of her that hoped for that: that he would somehow just look at her and figure it out and tell her that he wanted the same thing.  She wouldn’t have to do the hard part—put herself out there and risk being shut down.  She’d only have to say yes.

And that was a silly way to think.  Yes, they were closer than anyone; yes, he did know what she was thinking some of the time, like when he’d realized why she was so upset about being stuck here, and yes, that was one of the things she loved about him.  That still didn’t mean that he could actually read her mind, any more than she could read his (and she had certainly tried, wondering if each flirtatious word meant everything or nothing).  If she really wanted this, she had to play her part.

“Mulder,” she said.  “You remember the other day, you asked me what I wanted for Christmas?”

“Of course,” he said.  “You said you wanted to get home.  Scully, I really—”

Damn, she hadn’t meant to start them off on this track again.  “Don’t worry about it.  I didn’t…there’s something else I wanted.”

He looked relieved.  “Well, you should have told me while we were still in the mall,” he said teasingly.  “How am I supposed to get it for you now?”

She almost laughed.  “I don’t think it would have been a good idea for you to give it to me in a mall.”  And then she took a deep breath and hurried on, before she could lose her nerve.  “It’s not really…it’s not a present, anyway.  I just wanted to tell you something.  I…well, since I couldn’t go home, I’m glad we got to do this together.  Because you’re my closest friend.  And I’m glad you are.  I don’t want to change anything…I mean, I do, but…”  She was a mess.  She was about to stop, eat another cookie and gather her courage to try again in a few minutes or a month or never, but then she saw his face.  The way he was looking at her: solemn and tender and filled with anticipation.  And she spoke.  “I love you,” she said.  “I need you to know that.  Because I…what I want is for us to be together.”  He was still looking.  “That’s why I was weird the other day,” she said.  “With the mistletoe.  When you kissed me.”  She didn’t like silence right now.

But what he said was worth waiting for.  “Let’s try it again, then,” he said, and he reached across the space between them on the couch and pulled her into a kiss.  A real kiss, this time: she didn’t even think about pulling away.  She let herself register how it felt now, so good, so very good, so much like she’d imagined, but better, because this time it was real.  One of his hands was in her hair and the other was holding her tight, and she clutched at him too.  This was it.  She’d told him what she wanted, and now she knew: he wanted it too.

It was in his eyes, too, when they broke apart, how stunned and happy he looked.  “I love you too, Scully,” he said, and he touched his forehead to hers, and she started the kiss this time, a long one, her mouth open against his.  She wanted to catch up on all the days she hadn’t kissed him.

Of course, she wanted to do more than kiss him, but right now she wasn’t in any hurry.  Neither of them was going anywhere: not now, while the snow kept them trapped inside, and not after that, because this was it.  Right now, she was content to sit here with Mulder, here on this hotel room couch in Montana, and kiss and kiss and kiss.

 

It took her a moment, when she woke up, to get oriented.  That wasn’t a pillow under her head, or even the seat of a car: it was Mulder, his bare chest under her cheek, the quilted hotel room comforter pulled over both of them.  He was already awake, and he smiled at her as she opened her eyes.  “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Scully said.  She snuggled herself against him.  “You’re so warm.”

He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek.  “You’re so beautiful.”

She’d heard him say that word more than once last night: when they were still kissing on the couch, when she undressed in front of him for the first time, when the two of them were moving together and she’d never felt so good.  None of that made it any less thrilling now.  “Thank you,” she almost whispered.

They were quiet for a moment, enjoying this proximity, this new beginning.  Mulder was the first to break the silence.  “Happy day after Christmas.”

She smiled.  “That’s right.  Happy Boxing Day.”

He grinned at her.  “Do you box, Scully?”

Scully laughed.  “Well,” she said, “I’m pretty good at clinches.”

“Really?” Mulder said.  “Could you demonstrate that for me?”

“Of course,” she said, and then she grabbed him and rolled herself on top of him.  He pulled her down into a kiss, and she kissed him back.  No more Santa Clauses: this morning was for them.

Outside, the snow was starting to melt.


End file.
